Tough Love
by SlytherinMalfoySnape
Summary: Veronica on Lincoln and Michael You two have the most dysfunctional idea of love I've ever seen. Pilot 1x01. A series of short fics about Lincoln disciplining Michael. Warning: language and graphic violence.
1. An Appropriate Punishment

**An Appropriate Punishment**

**Summary:** When young Michael does something very bad, Lincoln has to punish his brother but will he let his anger cloud his judgment? Warning language and graphic violence.

* * *

Lincoln sat in his room thinking of an appropriate punishment for his brother. What Michael had done. More like what hadn't he done? Lincoln's head throbbed with fury. He just came home and found his baby brother with three of his friends at their flat smoking his pot, drinking his alcohol and basically trashing his place. Not to mention that Lincoln had found out in the first place because the school called his cell about his brother truanting from school for the third time just this week. Lincoln had figured that his brother would be at home. What he didn't figure was that he would have to face his baby brother stoned, probably drunk and passed out on the couch while his so-called buddies trashed the house. 

To say Lincoln was furious was an understatement of the century. After checking that Michael was really just passed out and not dead (not _yet_ anyway) he kicked his three terrified buddies out. They were too busy trying to cover their own asses they left Michael without a second glance. Michael was going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

Lincoln went to get a drink from the fridge to calm down but it didn't help. Most of the alcohol in the flat was gone courtesy of Michael and co. Luckily his secret stash of beer in his room hadn't been touched. So much for his stash of pot though. Lincoln tried to quash his anger at the thought of it. After his third cheap can of beer, Lincoln could hear his brother stirring on the couch.

Michael's eyes fluttered sleepily for a moment and then he attempted to squirm out of Lincoln's hold.

"No no no. You are not getting out of this. Wake up Michael. Michael fucking Scofield. Wake the fuck up and see what the hell you've done."

Michael tried feebly to push Lincoln's hands away from him. His brother was calling him by his full name and that was never a good thing. It meant that his brother was very angry with him. Rightfully so, Michael supposed.

Lincoln was out of patience so he grabbed the front of Michael's shirt and slapped him across the face. His brother gave a surprised cry and tried to turn away just as Lincoln backhanded him. Not too hard. Lincoln knows not to hit his brother hard enough to leave marks that teachers, social workers and Veronica could notice. Now Michael's eyes were watery, his cheeks flushed and the corner of lip bleeding from the last blow. Lincoln could tell by his trembling lip that his sucker of a baby brother was about to cry.

"Don't you dare fucking blubber about this, Michael. How about you tell me _exactly_ what the fuck you were up to today and what I should do to you for it. Stay awake, Michael because I swear if you try and go to sleep I will make sure that you're not going to be able to sleep," Lincoln threatened. He would have been more forgiving had he not suspected that this was probably not the first time Michael had been playing hooky and smoking his pot. He'd been waiting for this day for the last three weeks.

Michael managed to squeak out an apology, his eyes closing involuntarily.

"Don't test me now Michael. If you're sleepy and tired and feel like your head is spinning you only have yourself to blame," Lincoln growled. He could see that his brother was tired and drugged up but he had to be firm with him. Michael was going to go off the rails. Lincoln was practically holding him up. He let go of his brother and got a plastic bag as Michael turned a sickly pale colour. His baby brother promptly threw up into it several times. Michael sagged into Lincoln. His older brother sighed and got him a glass of water before propping Michael up again.

"Okay how about this. You nod if I'm right and correct me if I'm wrong. You tell me everything. Don't even think about lying to me because it will not be a pleasant experience. Alright?"

Michael nodded miserably. He tries not to look at Lincoln in the eye because he doesn't want to see the disappointment there but when he looks around the room he can see the debris and he feels a thousand times worse knowing he did that. There is a broken bottle in a corner of the room. Some dirty plates on the ground. Stains of alcohol on the couch. Just a mess.

"For the last three weeks, you've been skipping school with your…friends."

A nod.

"You haven't been doing your homework at all."

A nod.

"You've been drinking. Illegally."

A nod and a small sniffle.

"You've been smoking pot."

A nod. Now the waterworks were really threatening to spill but a glare from Lincoln make Michael blink back the tears.

"You've been stealing pot from me."

There was some hesitation.

"Don't lie to me Michael. You stole from me."

A wretched nod.

"God Michael. Has anything I've ever told you gone through your head?" Lincoln said in exasperation. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Michael didn't seem to know what to do. "I'm sorry Linc," he said hoarsely.

Lincoln lost it. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders, not caring if he was going to hurt him. He shook him violently as he yelled into Michael's face, "Do you know what you've done? I got called out of work. I could have lost my job today because of your stupid STUPID crap that you're pulling on me. The landlord could have kicked us out and we would have had to find a new place to live. The school could have expelled you. You know what the worst thing is Michael. You fucking lied to my face. For three weeks, I've known. Don't you think I know what pot smells like? I smelt it on you but I didn't say anything because I didn't want to believe you'd do that to me. I ignored the missing pot. The missing alcohol from the fridge. The smell of alcohol on your breath. The stains of god knows what on the couch. The hurried sounds of you packing up when I came home early. I just didn't think you'd do something that stupid. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Goddammit. You could have killed yourself drinking and getting high. You know they can take you away from me don't you? Is that what you what? They can take LJ from me too if they don't think I'm responsible enough to handle my own brother. You're a selfish little bastard. Oh God. You're his uncle. What kind of kid is he going to grow up as if he follows your example? Don't you know what you've done? Tell me Michael. Tell me because I'd really like to know why the fuck you'd do this when I'm trying my best to make it good for you. All of this shit you pull now of all times. What am I going to do with you?" Lincoln's hands were clamped onto Michael's shoulders because they were just itching to hit his brother. It was how Lincoln resolved things quickly. This time when Lincoln wanted to talk it out, wanted to try and understand his frustrating brother - Michael was not helping. Lincoln knew he hadn't been around for Michael as much as he'd wanted to but his brother needed to learn to grow up because he wasn't a kid anymore. Lincoln had LJ to take care of as well and Michael was making things infinitely more difficult.

"I'm sorry. I don't know," Michael said in a monotone. He flinched at his brother's words but didn't appear to show any other sign of remorse. "I don't know. I'm sorry. Just hit me. Just do it." He wanted to get it over and done with. He felt sick both physically and mentally. Sick with terror of waiting for his punishment. Sick with knowing that he had disappointed his brother and screwed up so badly. Sick because he was scared that his brother would leave him forever. Sick knowing that he had planned this all along because he'd thought that he could someone get Lincoln to pay attention to him instead of spending so much time with LJ. He knew this would get Lincoln's attention. Michael just hadn't realized how far he'd go to get it. This realization made him so sick he couldn't even talk about it.

"Oh my God, Michael. I said don't fucking try me. At least tell me you have some, some stupid stupid reason…"

When he saw that his brother wasn't going to answer him, Lincoln squeezed harder and shook him again like a rag doll as if it could clear the mess, loosen an answer of out of him. By the next morning, Lincoln's hands were going to leave ugly, swollen purple marks all over Michael's shoulders that would last until well into the next week. His baby brother's eyes were still glazed and he looked like he was going to be sick again but Lincoln didn't feel like caring.

"Just hit me. I know that's what you want to do to me." Michael's voice was hollow. His stoic-ness was to conceal his fear of Lincoln, to try to mollify the justified anger by taking it like a man but it sounded like a careless challenge to his older brother.

Lincoln didn't need any goading. He really was sick of Michael and his attitude. He didn't care if his brother was still under the influence of drugs. He'd hit him hard enough to make him feel it. In one fluid motion, Lincoln flipped his brother over the end of the couch and yanked his brother's pants and boxers down. He undid his heavy work belt then snapped the leather smartly down onto the tender skin repeatedly. As the pain began to sear its paths, his brother started struggling. Lincoln kept hitting him, feeling the anger swell then burn out of him. He could hear his brother's anguished wails and pleading but he didn't stop. It was like music. He remembered he had a set number of strokes but he was losing count in the sweet euphoria of his brother's pain. Michael's hands were pinned down and Lincoln kept hitting him, watching his brother kick and squirm futilely as the pale skin on his bottom turned bright red and then a dark red with a bluish tinge. Lincoln had never used his belt on his brother before and he was fascinated. The leather left pinkish marks that turned into puffy welts on top of welts. Lincoln left no skin untouched, deliberately striking the crease between bottom and thigh again and again as he enjoyed the high-pitched promises he was extracting from his baby brother. The desperate squeals turned into harsh hiccupping sobs, the frantic resistance into limp defeat as Michael realized that Lincoln wasn't going to stop anytime soon. The lashing was moving from his bottom to down to the back of his thighs and legs. It didn't matter that Michael was sorry; Lincoln just wanted to hit him because he didn't sound sorry enough. It was addictive, Lincoln felt like he was getting a sort of high off it. Lincoln was pushing out his anger on his brother and making him pay for everything he did. Lincoln smiled as he unleashed the other end of the belt, the buckle tearing into bruised skin and blood running down his brother's thighs…

* * *

"Just hit me. I know that's what you want to do to me." It almost an incoherent mumble. It sounds like some sort of twisted plea. 

The images ran through Lincoln's mind: his brother on the edge of the couch, the belt, the crying the buckle, the blood running down his brother's thigh...Lincoln looked at his brother incredulously. He easily lifts his brother up by his shirt and almost throws him. But Lincoln feels afraid of the violence and bloodthirstiness of his mind. He pushes his younger brother roughly away from him, afraid that it will become reality.

"Don't fucking test me Michael, because I really do feel like beating the shit out of you."

He really does want to do it but he doesn't think he should. Veronica has always told him not to punish Michael when he's angry or drunk because he'll really hurt him. Part of Lincoln feels like Michael really does deserve to be hurt. Badly. He wants to really hurt him like Michael _hurt_ him. The anger has gone replaced by an empty betrayal. Betrayal hurts like a bitch doesn't it?

Michael sits in a crumpled heap and he stares vacantly at his brother with his big blue eyes. Lincoln wonders if he's challenging him. Michael does want Lincoln to hit him in a way, because he feels bad now. He hasn't got anyone else to turn to and he hasn't paid his penance yet. The plan was perfect in his mind; it wasn't supposed to be like this. Lincoln was supposed to punish and then comfort him. Lincoln glares at him and he knows. Michael feels like he's staring right through him. Lincoln's rejection hurts so much more than a beating. Michael thinks that maybe he's not worth flogging. Just a dead horse to his brother. Useless.

"If you feel bad about it Michael, you should have thought about it before. Just…just clean up this shit."

Lincoln clenches his hands and storms out of the room as fast as he can before he can take those words back. Slamming the bedroom door, he leaves his brother with the mess of empty bottles and broken things.


	2. The Morning After

**The Morning After**

**Summary:** The morning after that incident in 'An Appropriate Punishment'. _Lincoln knows that all Michael wants to be is to be like him. But Lincoln wants Michael to be nothing like him. _Warning: reference to violence and extreme language.

* * *

The morning after _that _incident, Lincoln wakes up for work at 4am. He has to make up for the hours he took off yesterday. He's sober and he wishes he wasn't. He slept fitfully last night because he swears that he could hear Michael crying, sobbing, pleading for him to stop beating him. The memory of the memory in his mind is so real that Lincoln isn't sure if he did beat his brother but he checks his work belt and there's no blood on it. He lets out a breath that he didn't even know he was holding. Lincoln is both relieved and regretful. Relieved because he hasn't beaten the shit out of his brother. Regretful because he knows that part of him still wants to do it, knowing that Michael will forgive him. Regretful because he doesn't know what else to do to Michael to make him understand that drinking and smoking pot is a complete waste of his life. He's got so much ahead of him and Lincoln doesn't want to see him waste it. Lincoln knows that all Michael wants to be is to be like him. Lincoln Burrows. That's fucked up because Lincoln wants Michael to be _nothing_ like him. Lincoln closes his eyes and tries not to imagine pinning his brother to the couch and whipping him with his belt until he bled. The image keeps haunting Lincoln and he feels like he's afraid to touch Michael for fear of switching on his inner rage demon. The one that itched to hurt Michael, to make him pay. In Juvie, hitting people solved everything. Made them cooperate. He hit other kids so they'd leave him alone, to defend himself, to defend the new fish from the old fish. Some of the wardens hit them hard enough to get them in line. Not where it could be seen of course. Here, he thought, it would probably just make a mess of things.

Lincoln steps into the kitchen to get himself a good strong coffee. He finds his Michael asleep on the couch, shirtless, curled up in the fetal position underneath _Lincoln's_ jumper. My jumper, Lincoln thinks, swallowing thickly. Lincoln wonders again why Michael doesn't wear his own clothes but wears his clothes all the time. It's from the same crappy op shop in town so he doesn't know what makes his clothes so special. He doesn't remember taking his jumper off but then again, he is trying not to remember anything about yesterday. He knows that it was bad. He notes that his baby brother looks so much more…innocent when he's asleep. Lincoln is painfully reminded that Michael was a kid not so long ago. Is still a kid. Ever since Michael's return from the foster home and himself from juvie, his baby brother been trying in the last few weeks – totally asking for a licking in Lincoln's opinion. He didn't think Michael would actually ask for a beating. Kids these days would do anything to get out of one but Michael…wanted it? Lincoln hopes that Michael didn't piss him off on purpose. Lincoln suspects that something might have happened in that home but he wasn't going to ask if his brother didn't want to tell. This household is run by a 'Don't ask, don't tell' policy after all.

As Lincoln switches the light on, he notices that the whole flat has been cleaned. The kitchen, living room, everything is spotless. Lincoln knows that Michael had always been a sensitive kid, he took everything to heart. He must have interpreted "Just clean this shit up" to spring clean the whole fucking house. Michael didn't even make it back to his own bedroom, falling asleep on the stupid couch. On closer look, Michael's face is puffy like he'd been crying, dried tear tracks on the sides. Lincoln suddenly feels years older and having something in common with the bastard uncle that tried to kill Simba.

Sighing, knowing his conscience won't let him rest until he completes his task; Lincoln abandons his steaming coffee to the kitchen counter. He adjusts the jumper around his too skinny brother, aware that Michael's ribs were showing painfully. Lincoln poises to gather the legs dangling off the side of the worn couch. And stops. A raw bruise on his little brother's bony shoulder catches his eye. Lincoln gently peels back the jumper, _his_ jumper, so that his baby brother won't wake. He needn't have worried because Michael was exhausted because of the Molotov cocktail of his punishment and drugs. Lincoln could see the full extent of the damage. Matching finger-shaped marks decorated both sides of Michael's shoulders. They looked like swollen welts. Lincoln forced the idea down not wanting to get the mental picture again. The older brother wondered if he put his hands there, if the prints would match exactly like some forensic criminal case. He is the culprit. Part of his mind justifies whatever he did to Michael was well deserved and that he didn't even get what was coming to him. Another part of his mind tells him that no matter what Michael did, he really shouldn't have done that to his brother. God. Why did he have to have the responsibility of being a father to Michael? Why couldn't he just be the cool brother all the time and let someone else deal with the discipline issue? Lincoln knows that he's a hypocrite because he tells Michael to "Do as I say, not as I do." It's a lot to ask Michael to grow up quickly. But had anyone thought how much more of an ask it is to make Lincoln a father of two before he can even drink legally? Fucking hell. Things were so fucked up.

Lincoln runs his hands through his hair. Looking at the time on his watch, he steels himself and scoops his brother up into his arms. Michael is too light in Lincoln's opinion. So light that he feels fragile. Lincoln is afraid to wake his brother up, afraid to break him somehow. Michael is in deep sleep, his mouth slightly open, his body unconsciously snuggling up to his big brother. Lincoln doesn't feel like he deserves to hold his brother like that. Lincoln gently puts Michael down on the bed. He tries not to look at his handiwork instead pulling the covers over his brother. No matter how he tucks his brother, the bruises seem to show.

"I'm sorry Mikey," Lincoln whispers in a barely audible voice. He is sorry. Not just for hurting his brother last night but for all the other times he's hurt Michael. The times that he spent with LJ. Missing Michael's parent interview night because he had to baby-sit LJ. Or getting home drunk and stoned. Or not coming home at all and worrying Michael. Not remembering to make Michael dinner when he went out for a date with Lisa or Veronica. Not being the best example of a brother…

Michael stirs but doesn't wake. Instead he latches onto Lincoln's jumper, now next to his pillow. He mumbles something in his sleep. Lincoln smiles sadly and extricates Michael's fingers from the scratchy wool. He takes a crumpled flyer out of his pocket, contemplating leaving a note but decides against it. It seems just a bit too soppy for Lincoln's liking. Lincoln is sorry he has to leave. Still sorry for everything but not sorry enough to say it out loud to his brother because that would be admitting too much. Lincoln hopes that when Michael grows up he'll understand.

When Michael wakes up for school that morning, he is disappointed that his dream is over. He dreamed about his brother comforting him, forgiving him after his punishment. He feels the lingering terror of Lincoln's wrath and the sting of rejection. Maybe the house isn't clean enough? Michael resolves to bleach the shower tiles that evening, after he's caught up on the three weeks of missed homework. He wants to make the house so good to make Lincoln stay at home more often. It is then he realizes that he is not on the couch anymore and Lincoln's jumper is gone. In its place is a paper crane. Michael fingers it curiously. Lincoln was into origami? He hides the treasured crane underneath his pillow for further investigation later. As Michael puts his shirt on, his shoulders ache from the marks of his sins but he pays them no heed. He knows he will take whatever punishments Lincoln deems necessarily. If it means that Lincoln won't leave him, it's worth the pain.


	3. Don't Worry, It Doesn't Hurt Anymore

**Don't worry, it doesn't hurt anymore**

Summary: Veronica finds out Lincoln is the cause of Michael's injuries. She tries to understand Michael and the relationship between him and his brother - why they protect each other so much. _"Why won't you let me help you?"_ She asked him the question years ago and the reply was the same.

* * *

"What happened?" Veronica is very surprised at the fresh bruise on Michael's face and the split lip. Michael hasn't looked like that in a long time and she forgot how vulnerable he appeared when he was all cut up. The way he used to look at her when she first patched him up for accidents around the house.

Michael shrugs. "Nothing."

"I thought Lincoln 'dealt with' those bullies that were bothering you." Veronica rolls her eyes as she says it but it is clear that she is concerned about him.

"He did." Michael doesn't offer much more. He turns his face away so he doesn't have to feel Veronica's pitying gaze. Veronica is reminded that he likes to avoid eye contact when he's lying to her.

Veronica decides to change the direction of the conversation. "Where's Linc?"

Michael doesn't look at her when he replies nonchalantly. "I don't think he wants to be around me right now."

There is a long pause. Veronica is confused until she connects the very disjointed dots. "Oh my God. Did he…did he do _this_ to you?"

"He didn't mean to." Michael wanted to lie but he didn't think there was any point. Lincoln would probably tell her later anyway. Or maybe he wouldn't but she'd find out somehow. Vee had always been good to him and he didn't want to lie to her. "Look, its no big deal." Veronica was at a loss for words. She tried to believe him.

"Let me get you some ice for it." To what? Numb the pain? She knew she couldn't take it away. Veronica left before Lincoln came back, making up a lame excuse. She didn't want to be thinking about Michael's battered face when she saw him.

PBPBPBPBPBPBPBPB

Veronica's over at Lincoln's place as usual. She idly thinks how its always Lincoln's place and not Michael's place. The latter is sitting on the worn couch awkwardly icing an impressive black eye. Half of his face seemed swollen. The blood on his sleeve catches her eye. It is then she notices the ring of bruises on Michael's slim wrist and forearms. Wrist because the other one, his writing one Veronica notes silently, is covered in a cast. She wonders how many other times that there are bruises on him and she's not noticed. That she didn't even know about. He's never complained about the pain. He's never complained about being the few times he's been grounded. Looking back, Veronica doesn't remember a time when Michael's complained to her about Lincoln's punishments. Perhaps he might seek comfort if Lincoln's harshness unsettled him but never to dispute it.

Ever since Lincoln threatened maybe half the school about touching his geek brother and getting suspended a dozen times for it, none of the bullies bothered Michael. Michael had learned to sort of evade fistfights anyway but despite coming onto his own he never defended himself against one person. That same one person. "Lincoln hit you again didn't he?" An accusation.

Michael doesn't say anything but the silence is as good as an admission to Veronica.

"He hit you. Again," Veronica said flatly. She isn't happy about it. How could she be happy about her loving boyfriend beating up his brother? She never felt that Michael deserved it because he was just too innocent. He always managed to have that adorable hurt look in his eyes.

"Its no big deal." He's not looking at her.

"That's what you always say. Please Michael, don't antagonize Lincoln. You know he's got a temper. You know he's trying to look out for you. Don't test him. Please. It's so hard to see you like this. Don't do this, Mike. You know he's going to get mad and hit you, why must you rile him up?"

Michael can't admit to her that he's rather Lincoln beat him everyday than not pay any attention to him when he's around. Lincoln isn't even around much anyway. He needs to feel like he's worth something to Lincoln even if it means a bit of pain. "Don't worry, it doesn't really hurt anymore. Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

She's concerned about him. She's concerned _for _him. It shouldn't have to be like that. If pain is all you ever know, it doesn't hurt. Michael's tolerance for pain had hardened him to Lincoln's blows but it makes her wonder how much pain he would have had to go through in the first place. Like the callus Lincoln has build up on his palms.

"I suppose it builds character. Anyway, he doesn't hit me all the time. He tries not to leave any marks. He didn't mean to."

Michael's sincerity tears her up. Her heart breaks at hearing his defensiveness. "That makes it so much better. So it's okay for him to hurt you as long as it doesn't show? As long as it supposedly makes you a better person?" Veronica can't help the sarcasm that creeps into her voice.

"Maybe I just bruise easily." It is his fault. That's how Michael sees it. "I should have known better I guess." He is remorseful about his plans upsetting Lincoln but he isn't remorseful about the his current condition.

Veronica wants to ask 'How far until its abuse Michael?' but she knew Michael wouldn't consider it that even if it were. Once upon a time she naively believed that Lincoln would never hurt Michael since he was so protective of his baby brother. She still believes Lincoln loves his brother, that much is clear. She trusts Lincoln not to unnecessarily hurt his brother. She hoped her faith in Lincoln wasn't misplaced.

Veronica sighs. "What did you do this time Michael?"

"Just didn't feel like going to school." There was no way he was going to elaborate on what Lincoln caught him doing. He didn't want another lecture from Vee even though she was a maternal figure in his life. She might think he was dirty. Despite his act, he did care about Vee's opinion of him but Lincoln's reputation came before his.

"That's it? I thought you loved school." Veronica doesn't believe him and he doesn't blame her. She crosses her arms.

Michael doesn't offer another excuse. "I dunno. I guess that's it. Well maybe not counting the bit about drinking and smoking pot again," Michael says with mischievous smirk, putting his ice pack down.

Veronica sighs again. "Its probably better that I don't know. So he punched you?"

"Kinda…yeah." Michael seems embarrassed and starts fiddling with the frayed hem of his shirt.

Veronica had a feeling that it wasn't it but she doesn't press further.

"Maybe you should talk to someone about it."

"NO," Michael responds vehemently. "There is nothing to talk about. I screwed up and Linc put me back in line. If I rat him out to a social worker or a teacher, they'll take me away from him."

She bites her lip to keep from saying that maybe that is the point? Maybe he needed to be away from Lincoln for a while until Lincoln could figure out a way to discipline his brother without the need to beat the shit out of him. Veronica is angry on Michael's behalf because she does not know what possessed Lincoln to break his brother's writing arm. Michael's defensive silence is irking her as well but she pushed those feelings down so she could deal with his needs.

"I mean maybe your…doctor. Just to talk about how you feel about it. Maybe talk about why you're acting up. I just think you shouldn't keep these feelings inside you know? It's not good to bottle things up. I know you think it's just physical but its more than that isn't it? Lincoln means so much to you. You can't deny that. Promise me please Michael. I'm worried about you. Promise me you'll do something about it." Veronica puts her hands on his shoulders and looks at him in the eye. Michael stiffens and glances furtively at the clock behind her.

He shifts uncomfortably. "I will," he lied. He had every intention of doing something about it. Nothing that is. "Lincoln loves me ok? He's my brother. Sometimes love hurts," Michael says matter-of-factly.

"I think you confuse love and pain. Its not the same thing Michael."

"I know Linc's not perfect but its good enough for me. You know he's anything but conventional, Vee. If its his way of showing it then its fine. It doesn't hurt anymore," he repeated. Veronica wondered if he was trying to convince himself of that. Michael is used to it. The way he said it like it was perfectly normal. "Don't make a big deal out of nothing."

She wants to shake him to tell him that it was not normal but she doesn't want to hurt him. She isn't Lincoln. "But it's not nothing Michael. How can I ignore the fact that you're sitting in front of me with a black eye, blood on your shirt from God knows what injuries. There are bruises on your wrist like he held you down from whatever the hell he was doing to you. He broke your writing hand for goodness sake! He broke it! Look at the excuses you're making for him. Why won't you let me help you?"

"Stop. I understand you're concerned for me. You've been good to me, my whole life, you have. But you gotta let me deal with this. Okay?"

Veronica knows the conversation is over. Michael made his mind up and once he did, she knows that he isn't going to listen to her anymore. She never confronted Michael about the subjected again.

Years later when she heard those words again she knew that it would mean that Michael was able to put up with and forgive anything Lincoln did – all in the name of love. It was no point asking what if it got really bad. Because Michael would always trust that it wouldn't. Lincoln wouldn't kill him, not himself. That she knew. Would Lincoln be the death of Michael though? That she didn't know. She wondered about the invisible emotional wounds Lincoln had inadvertently inflicted on Michael. She would never understand it but she knew it always made sense to Michael even though it made no sense at all for her.

She still loved Lincoln after that. She'd always loved Lincoln, since the day they'd met but sometimes when he talked about Michael, she couldn't help but want to ask him why he would do such a thing to his brother. How he could do such a thing. It didn't seem right. She felt torn between feeling angry with Michael for being so accepting and being angry with Lincoln for damaging his brother. Perhaps it was how the cracks began in her relationship with Lincoln. She wasn't sure. However, she didn't have any answers either and unfortunately, it wouldn't be the last time it happened. All she could do was to patch the younger brother up when things got too hard. Prop him up again so he could face the next round.


	4. Dysfunctional Judgment

**Dysfunctional Judgment **

**Summary: **Lincoln confronts Veronica about beating Michael. She wanted to talk about him beating Michael up instead she finds Lincoln beating himself up inside. _Hes answering all the questions shes been afraid to ask_ _She cant find the words to condemn him anymore and yet she cant seem to find the words to comfort him._

* * *

Michael's soundly asleep in the room across from Lincoln's, curled up on his uninjured side. He is utterly exhausted, still wearing the bloodstained shirt, socks still on. The bruises on his face are fresh, the right side of his face swollen despite the ice pack they'd put on earlier. His broken wrist is resting on his pillow. His other hand is beneath the voluminous cloud, tightly gripping a hidden paper crane. He sleeps peacefully; the curve of his body betrays no fear or lingering resentment. It seems like he's already put it all past him.

Veronica knows. She's checked up on him enough times during the night. She knows she should be asleep as well but she can't stop dwelling on what she's seen. She feels like she's seen something she wasn't supposed to see and it's keeping her from being able to sleep next to Lincoln. A kind of terrible secret weighing down on her. When she's come back from watching over Michael for the fifth time that night, she hears Lincoln turning over again. This time he's facing her. She contemplates feigning sleep so that he would sleep too but she's had enough of lies and facades today.

"Can't sleep, Vee?" Lincoln says softly, finally breaking the tension between them. One step closer to bridging the widening chasm threatening to divide them forever.

She looks at him accusingly.

"About Michael," he launches right into the topic. He's never been one for mincing words. "I know you must think that I did a terrible thing. After everything I knew about you and your father, you think its worse that I would consider doing that to Michael. Heck, it's been so bad I haven't been able to stop thinking about it all day. You think I deserve that because of what I did to him."

Veronica had the grace to look slightly ashamed but she is proud, she won't admit it. He's answering all the questions she's been afraid to ask. Lincoln puts his hand on her face. Veronica leans into his touch, hating that he could make her listen to him, feeling like she was betraying Michael's cause somehow.

"Don't lose that sense of justice, Vee. You have every right to think of me like that. I really shouldn't have done that to Mikey no matter what he did. It was wrong."

She is surprised that he'll admit he's wrong. In all the years of their relationship, Lincoln's always hated saying sorry first. Veronica really wants to talk about their relationship – her and Lincoln but this is more important. Lincoln's been there for her when she had problems with her father and when she had problems with herself and now she wants to be there for him when he needs it.

"You have to understand, I hate doing that to him. I hate hurting him. Its like this – I feel like I'm watching him avalanche down a hill and I want to stop him. I want to help him. I can't watch him throw his life away. I can't just let him do stupid things. I don't want him to end up like me. He thinks he's helping or he's only experimenting but I can see him getting addicted to that shit. Getting addicted to the highs. Not even just drugs but the danger and the thrill of being caught for something like jigging class. I don't want him to think that it's a good thing. I don't know what else to do because he won't listen to me. I hate it but I don't know what else to do." Lincoln closes his eyes, wishing he could just shut out the world. "He's not going to care if I send him to his room. It's probably a reward. If I keep him in the house, that's what he likes. So I beat him. It keeps him out of trouble in the time that it takes for him to recover. I beat the shit out of him so that he won't be like what I am. I know I was really harsh with him today but that's because I think its not working anymore. He's spiraling out of control." Lincoln's face contorts into a frown.

"You're a good man Linc," Veronica says softly. Despite his misgivings, she says it sincerely because she really does mean it.

"But not good enough, Vee. Not nearly good enough. And nowhere near good enough for what Michael needs," Lincoln says flatly. "I don't think you believe me."

"I do. I just… think that there are other alternatives, Linc. There has to be." She's trying to be as gentle about it as possible. He stops stroking her hair and pulls away from her.

"God, you think I _want_ to hit him?" He sits up abruptly.

"Maybe. I don't know. We have choices Linc, don't bullshit me." She raises herself to face him with equal force.

He's looking at her. Hurt and shocked. "I know," Lincoln says heavily, laying back down like a deflated balloon. "But what if it's the lesser of two evils? He needs to understand that it's not a good thing to want to be like me. I don't want him to be anything like me. I just want to give him the best chances in life. To have a real life when he grows up, you know?"

It dawns on Veronica as she lies next to him. Sometimes, she forgets that Lincoln isn't Michael's father. She thinks that Lincoln forgets too. It just seems so natural when he talks about taking care of his brother. That the responsibility had been thrust onto Lincoln who really wasn't that much older than his brother. Michael isn't a normal child either. He's special and he has special needs. Lincoln has to give so much of his time to trying to pay everything off that he doesn't have the time to nurture Michael's self-worth.

"I know," Veronica says lovingly. "I know."

"I hate hurting him but sometimes I think I am taking my anger out of him. It's just so hard when he's being stubborn. When he keeps doing stupid things over and over again. I want to squash that out of him. It sounds so terrible but its true. Other times I love him so much that I feel like it hurts me to hurt him." Lincoln lets out a low gravelly laugh. "So that's what it really means when parents say 'This will hurt me more than it'll hurt you.' I always thought that was such a cop out."

It seems like a confession and she doesn't want to interrupt. She doesn't say anything but she rolls closer to him. Lincoln instantly envelops her petite form in his arms.

"When I'm punishing him. I make myself cold. I make myself want to hurt him so I can. As bad as that sounds I know that the consequences can get really bad. I make myself stand firm and I won't give in to him even if he cries. I'm scared that I'm not going to get through to him in time if I let his pleas distract me. I have to save him and this is the only way I know how to. I tell myself that it's for his own good."

Veronica takes his large hand in hers and rubs it soothingly. I know, I know, she says silently. It sounds sort of crazy to her but it makes more sense now. Lincoln is really just trying to do what is good for his brother. He hasn't had anyone else to tell him otherwise. And who was she really to say she knew what was good either?

"He believes me too. I really am sorry when I have to do it to him. I don't mean to really hurt him. I don't even say it but he always forgives me. I just know he does. He just took it you know, lying down. He didn't even fight me. That pisses me off because I want him to get mad at me. I want him to tell me that it's wrong. I want him to dodge my punches and defend himself. Do something. But he lies there. He just looks at me with those big doe eyes like he trusts me. He fucking trusts me to beat the shit out of him." Lincoln's voice is laced with an incredible amount of guilt along with the frustration. Veronica winces. "Its like driving in the dark without any fucking lights. I'm just trying to do my best and hoping we're going in the right direction."

Linc's voice sounds so desperate but Veronica has lost her voice. She thought she knew but now she realised that she was really just in the dark with them. She thought she was on the outside watching. She was on the outside, but not really watching, just wading in the dark together. She didn't have any more good parenting experience than he did. While she did know Michael and she occasionally played Mom, it wasn't the same. Michael had never pressured her to do all the parental things. It was more a part-time sisterly bond. Lincoln wasn't just Michael's brother and father, but also…his mother. He had to try and find the delicate balance between discipline and nurturing. All too often, Lincoln was too tired and disappointed in Michael to understand. Nurture gave way to discipline because more was at stake. He could deal with a hurt Michael but he couldn't deal with one that was dead.

Veronica turns and presses her forehead to his, feeling his warm breath in her face. She can't find the words to condemn him anymore and yet she can't seem to find the words to comfort him.

He's rambling and he feels like he's close to tears. It's been years since he's cried and he's not going to. It's a foreign feeling, all choked up inside him. "I don't regret it. I can't regret it. I'd do it all again if it means keeping him from destroying himself. I love him. I really love him. I really do. I don't know if its really enough for him." He wonders if Veronica can hear the hitch in his voice as he holds himself together. Just. He's had years of practice, being strong for Michael but it never gets any easier.

It's a million miles from sanity, but a touch of Michael slips out from her… "It'll be enough." Veronica puts her small fingers across Lincoln's mouth to silence his protests. She knows that Michael would have wanted her to say it.

It wouldn't be the first time or last time that Veronica wondered about those two. There was something about them that she knew that she'd never be able to understand – something that blurred, transcended and totally screwed up the line between love and pain. All she knows is that they had the most dysfunctional idea of love she'd ever seen. Dsfunctional yes but enough to keep them from losing each other.


End file.
